


Oleander

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: One jerk walks into another jerk’s flowershop.





	Oleander

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Ravus and Lunafreya own a family-run flower shop, and Ravus is usually the one in the shop at the register. Cue Loqi coming in one day, upset and angry. The first thing he says is: "I need something that says 'I hope you choke on his dick'." The usual for this au after that. + If you can find some way to have the meddling, match making little sister and brother-in-law ++ The brother-in-law is Nyx” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=11169082#cmt11169082).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She’s never around anymore. When they were little, they would go _everywhere_ together, do everything, even share the same friends—though they were always more Lunafreya’s friends than Ravus’; he’d qualify them more as acquaintances or lackeys, to Lunafreya’s exasperation. Then that hulking cop had to come along and get between them, scooping Lunafreya up and right out of Ravus’ life.

He knows that isn’t exactly true. The shop’s alight with signs of Lunafreya’s touch—the calla lilies on their counter are arranged in perfect elegance, the sign below them scrawled in her graceful hand. A frilly welcome mat’s been set under the door, which Ravus would never buy. A few butterfly accessories are dotted amongst the various potted plants, a few of which are definitely new.

But she’s not around for full shifts nearly as much, which leaves Ravus at the counter, with plenty of time to plot his brother-in-law’s untimely demise. It’ll make Lunafreya sad, of course, which Ravus will deeply regret, but hopefully she’ll get over it soon enough and return full-time to the flower shop they were supposed to run _together._

As he sulks behind the register, he recalls last Thursday night, when she’d stopped by the apartment they used to share. She brought red wine and pleasant company, blessedly _alone_ , and they talked shop. Then she not-so-subtly suggested he find someone of his own instead of relying all on her for human contact, to which he’d quietly fumed. She’d even offered to set him up with a few of Nyx’s friends. In real time, Ravus shudders at the thought. He doesn’t need anyone. But he does need his sister back. Then he could be in the back like he wants, clipping and caring for their flowers, doing up arranges and wrapping, instead of glaring at the door and hoping no customers come in to pester him. 

Ravus hasn’t had the best of luck lately. The door inevitably opens, the little bell above it announcing entry. It’s the first customer since lunch, and hopefully last. Slow days aren’t good for business, of course, but they are better for Ravus’ patience. The last people in were two giggling girls that took two _hours_ window-shopping, only to decide on a single red rose: the most basic option they could’ve picked in two seconds.

The man that comes in looks about Ravus’ age, a little shorter, slimmer, but still well built in an attractive cut of black dress-pants and a button up shirt, stylish jacket snuggly fit. His honey hair is glossy and brushed away from his face, his pretty features fixed in a haughty sort of sneer. He takes two looks around the shop, then saunters right up to the counter. 

Ravus opens his mouth to utter a begrudging greeting, but the man barks first, “I need something that says ‘I hope you choke on his dick.’”

Ravus shuts his mouth and blinks. The man looks dead serious. As in, could-kill-someone serious. Ravus resists the urge to snidely suggest a pen and paper. 

He answers dryly, “They don’t ascribe meanings like that to flowers.”

“So give me something poisonous.”

A poisonous plant store would probably be more up Ravus’ alley. Unfortunately, Lunafreya would never go for it. And he’d probably only have this one customer, besides himself. He explains, “Unless you plan to shove it down his throat, we haven’t got anything like that.”

The man squints, and for a moment, Ravus fully believes he’d happily force-feed the victim toxic plants. Then his eyes flicker to the tag on Ravus’ chest, and he grumbles, “Look... _Ravus._ I’ve got a piece-of-shit dirt-bag coming to a dinner with the boss tomorrow, and I need things to look nice before I get the chance to maul him. Just... give me something that looks like flowers but means ‘fuck you’.”

Ravus never liked the idea of nametags. He should never have let Lunafreya talk him into it. It makes him feel distinctly at a disadvantage, not knowing the customer’s name but knowing they know his. Lunafreya would say he’s being ridiculous. But Lunafreya isn’t the one having to deal with a sexy psychopath that just said her name in the most demanding way possible.

With a great deal of effort, Ravus grits out, “Yellow carnations.”

“What do those mean?”

“Disappointment and rejection.”

The customer rolls his eyes. Ravus feels the need to stress, “That’s the best we’ve got.”

“What about red?” the customer tries.

“Red generally means love.”

The man snorts. “I don’t mean, like, heart-red. I mean, like... blood-of-my-enemies red.”

“As much as I wish we sold _blood-of-my-enemies_ flowers, we don’t.” Which is really a shame. Because then Ravus could present a few to Nyx. And this man would probably order a boatload—he seems like the sort of person who’s not afraid to burn bridges.

He stares at Ravus for a long minute, as though expecting Ravus to break down and admit to a secret stash of murder-flowers in the back room, but Ravus holds steady and meets his gaze. It does give Ravus some time to wonder who on Eos would cheat on the little fire-cracker—even angry, Ravus can admit he’s scrumptious-looking, and more important, he seems like the type to key a car after every argument.

Finally, the man says, “A bouquet of yellow carnations, and a promise you’ll call me if you get something deadlier.”

Even though it’s probably a joke, Ravus slides over one of the little cards by the til completely on auto-pilot. It has a space for the customer’s name, number, and what type of flowers they’re waiting for. Normally, Ravus announces when the new shipments of each species are brought in, but this time he forgoes the speech and marches around the corner. There’s a pause before he hears the man’s footsteps following after him.

The shop is a decent sized, though Ravus would like to expand when they can afford it—most of their flowers are fresh, but they do have a wall of fakes and a few accessories here and there. He heads first to the carnation section, then changes on a whim and bypasses the fabric flowers right to the cheap plastic ones. There are only a few of those, but carnations are popular enough to be well stocked. He plucks up five and hands them to the customer, who growls, “What the hell are these?”

“Fake flowers,” Ravus says, “A trash gift for a trash man.”

The man shuts his mouth, and the anger on his face slowly morphs into a weird form of maybe-respect. He answers slowly, “Well played, flower man.”

Ravus nods curtly and heads back to the counter. While he’s able to at least appear more diplomatic than his customer, he fully understands the concept of hate gifts. The man joins and surrenders the flowers, which Ravus quickly wraps in plain brown paper—the ugliest of their wrapping option. When he’s done, the man smirks at the bundle, announcing, “Perfect. Looks like shit.”

Ravus automatically bristles. He did intentionally pick something awful, but he still doesn’t appreciate hearing his wares denigrated. He punches in the number on the til and pointedly waits until the man fishes out a credit card. It reminds Ravus that sending Nyx bad flowers wouldn’t be worth it—he’s not worth spending money on.

The customer doesn’t seem to mind. When the register pings it ascent, he jerks his card out and snatches up his gift. Then he fixes Ravus with a smirk and says, “Thanks,” which catches Ravus off guard. He didn’t think the spicy little nuisance was capable of gratitude. Lunafreya would say he judges people too quickly, but obviously, Lunafreya doesn’t judge people hard enough.

He grunts, “Sure.” 

With a curt nod, the man turns on his heel and leaves, his gait a tad less furious than before, his hips now swaying like a victory dance. Ravus can’t help but steal a glance at his well-shaped rear. Ravus only realizes he’s been staring when the door closes behind it and it’s cut off from view.

Shaking his head, he brushes off the counter out of habit, even though fake flowers don’t leave residue. He spots the card he’d passed over in the process. The pen that usually rests on his register is lying next to it. In the name slot it says ‘Loqi,’ and on the phone number line, ‘1-800-you-wish.’ For what kind of flowers, it reads: ‘actually can kill people.’

Ravus reads it over twice before letting out an exasperated sigh and shoving it into his pocket. He can’t leave that sort of nonsense around for Lunafreya to find. Or the police, should they come to retrace ‘Loqi’s’ steps after his boyfriend’s body washes up in the river. The last thing Ravus needs is more cops that don’t buy flowers and just steal sisters sniffing around.

The next customer comes in ten minutes later wanting more roses. She’s boring.

* * *

He thinks about Loqi again. At first, it’s just because it’s an interesting story—he relays it to Lunafreya, who laughs and says, “Sounds like a certain brother I know!” It inevitably annoys him, even though Loqi was pretty cute, so the comparison’s not a complete insult. Then Lunafreya asks if he got Loqi’s number, and he blushes and tries not to think about the card on his desk at home. He would’ve thrown it out, but glancing at it occasionally gives him a laugh, and that’s worth something.

An employee would be worth more, and Ravus considers hiring one as he mulls behind the counter. Then he could take some time off, although he doesn’t know what he’d do with it. It was easier when he and Lunafreya just split their hours fifty-fifty, before a certain someone came into their lives and blew everything up. Lunafreya said they should both still have lives outside of the shop, but Ravus doesn’t, and that just worsens his mood. Lunafreya suggested he use the extra time a staff would give them to go to a club and get laid, but the last thing Ravus wants to do is be packed in with a bunch of drunk smiling people that think everything’s funny.

Maybe he doesn’t have the right disposition for a flower shop. He’s been told that once or twice. But he _likes_ flowers. They’re pretty and remind him of home and childhood. They come in all sorts of amazing varieties, release a cacophony of entrancing scents, and can grow in the ugliest of places. They’re _alive_ , but they don’t need as much looking after as pets, and they’re not half so horrible as people. They’re just... _nice_. Staring at the arranged display of them in bunches by the door makes him feel a little better. Just a little. 

The beautiful view is disrupted by the door opening. But the customer that steps inside is handsome, which more adds to the flowers than takes away from them. It’s been a few days, but Ravus hasn’t forgotten the bitchy beauty that demanded choke-on-a-dick flowers. That sort of customer is hard to forget.

Loqi doesn’t even pretend to look around the shop this time—he heads straight for the counter. Looking Ravus dead in the eye, he says, “I want more flowers.”

Ravus knows he’s _supposed_ to say ‘good’ and ask what kind. But Loqi set a bad precedent, and Ravus lets himself snort, “After last time, I figured you had big enough balls to not get sucked back into a relationship with a cheater.” Given Loqi’s phrasing last time, which Ravus will probably never forget, he figures Loqi was indeed dating someone—a man—who cheated on him. Loqi’s soft cheeks turn a furious red.

“They’re not for that fuckhole, idiot! Just give me flowers!”

Ravus almost laughs. It’s too easy. His amusement keeps him from being pissed off at being addressed that way in his own shop. It’s been another day slow enough that he’s ready and willing to play the game. He plucks a single tulip out of the display vase next to him and tosses it onto the counter in front of Loqi. Loqi narrows his eyes.

Ravus all but taunts, “Oh, did you want _certain_ flowers?”

Loqi’s ex-boyfriend is definitely dead. Loqi’s glaring like Ravus is going to be next. Ravus isn’t afraid. He maintains his challenge, knowing full well that they’re in _his_ wheelhouse and he’s in charge. Eventually, Loqi breaks. 

“Show me some... fragrant... flowers.” It sounds like he picked the adjective out of thin air. He was very specific about his reasons last time, but this time he gives Ravus nothing. So Ravus doesn’t ask for it.

He comes out from around the counter, and as soon as he does, Loqi’s tight at his side, following him as he meanders around the store, half stalling on purpose because rude customers don’t deserve expediency and half because he was given the most general directions possible. Finally, he stops in front of a line of primroses and gestures at them. Loqi gives them a wary look before leaning in, as though he’s expecting Ravus to ambush him the moment his guard’s down. He takes in a whiff, wrinkles his nose in obvious displeasure, then straightens again. Ravus can garner his opinion but still demands, “Well?”

“Show me different flowers.” Ravus just keeps looking at him. “...Blue ones.”

Ravus walks him over to a cluster of hydrangeas. They come in a variety of colours, but he picks out the bluest and points. Loqi, looking more at Ravus than the flowers, counters, “Not blue enough.”

So Ravus takes him to a vase of bluebells. Loqi announces, “Too blue,” even though they’re less blue than the hydrangeas were. 

Holding back a growl, Ravus finds a hyacinth pot. Loqi asks, “What do they mean?”

“Generally, playfulness and constancy. But the different colours have different meanings.” Ravus would go through those different means, but he doubts that Loqi cares. 

Loqi’s still looking primarily at Ravus. His gaze is almost assessing, which sort of puts Ravus on edge, sort of thrills him. He doesn’t get what’s going on, and he doesn’t like not knowing things. Loqi asks, “What about daisies?”

Ravus snorts, which makes Loqi blush deeper. “What?”

“They mean innocence and purity,” Ravus explains, to which Loqi scowls. 

“You don’t think I’m innocent?”

Ravus thinks Loqi’s a little goblin in a pretty package. But he’s mature enough to hold his tongue. With a frustrated noise, Loqi hisses, “Fine, I didn’t want flowers anyway,” and he turns on his heel and storms right out of the store. It all happens so fast that Ravus doesn’t know what’s going on until he’s alone again.

He’s left feeling annoyed with himself. Not because he lost a sale, but because Loqi probably won’t come back. Which, in terms of liability and safety, is probably a good thing. Ravus is still annoyed.

He wanders back towards the counter and wastes the rest of his day.

* * *

Loqi does come back. It takes a week, but eventually, he shows up, standing at the front desk just as Ravus has come out of the back. Ravus finds himself asking, “What do you want?” even though their shop only sells one thing.

Loqi predictably and unhelpfully answers, “Flowers.” 

To avoid a repeat of last time, Ravus asks, “Who for?” Not because he cares, but because it’ll narrow things down.

Loqi snaps, “None of your damn business.”

Standing firm, Ravus insists, “Then how am I supposed to know what to show you?”

Loqi maintains his glare, before finally acquiescing, “For a guy I might sleep with.”

Loqi doesn’t look like the type to give flowers to his potential prospects. Then again, Ravus isn’t sure how people go about getting laid anymore—it’s not like college where it just sort of _happened_. Then again, Loqi’s cute enough where it might just happen for him too. Maybe flowers do help. As much as Ravus loves them, he thinks he’d probably throw them in a man’s face if they tried to get in his pants that way.

There aren’t a whole lot of ‘let’s bang’ flowers, but at least it’s _something_ to go on. Ravus heads off towards the more romantic flowers, even though Loqi doesn’t seem like the romantic type. He points out roses first, because they’re the closest, and Loqi mutters, “Have you got anything less obvious that still has thorns?” Ravus tries red carnations next, which has Loqi saying, “Those are dead to me forever.” He tries lavender, orange lilies, tulips, even sweet peas, but Loqi doesn’t like any of them. 

Finally, Ravus stops bothering and lies, “Get an orchid. It means fuck-me-in-the-car.”

For a split second, Loqi looks surprised and pleased, but then he quickly seems to realize that Ravus is full of shit. Ravus fully expects to be called out on it, but Loqi just asks, “What are _your_ favourite flowers?”

His used to be sylleblossoms. But they’re impossible to grow in Lucis, and the memories of Tenebrae’s fields aren’t the sort of thing he’ll easily share with strangers. He thinks of just lying again, but it’s simpler to go with his second favourite: “Anemones.”

“Let’s see them.”

Ravus moves around him. Loqi eyes the violet petals and long stems before slowly admitting, “Not bad.” Surprised, Ravus nods. “I’ll take one.”

Ravus rings them up. Loqi stares at him the entire time, and Ravus returns the favour when Loqi leaves. He looks even better in today’s skinny jeans. Ravus wonders absently if whoever gets the anemones will appreciate the view as much as he does.

* * *

Lunafreya is already there when he comes in for his morning shift, though she tells him apologetically, “Sorry, I can’t stay.” He doesn’t _technically_ need her to—they’re never busy on Tuesday mornings. But then Nyx emerges from the back, carrying a few stacked pots, and it takes everything Ravus has not to accuse him of stealing. Instead, Ravus says nothing as Nyx pecks Lunafreya on the lips, telling her, “I’ll be in the car.” He carries the pots off with him, Lunafreya smiling wistfully after him as though he’s got Loqi’s ass. He doesn’t. She can do better.

Ravus isn’t going to have that fight with her here. She’ll just bottle her tears and walk away, and Ravus will feel like an asshole and have to apologize. Instead, he waits while she runs over a few things from last night—stock that needs to be turned and orders that have to be made. Finally she pats his arm and says, “I hope you have a good shift—and an easier one than me last night!”

Instantly on guard, Ravus asks, “What happened?” If someone came in and bothered his little sister, he _will_ find them, and he _will_ make them pay.

Lunafreya shakes her head. “Oh, nothing serious. Just a very difficult customer. He came in wanting flowers that say, and I quote, ‘I hope you choke on _my_ dick.’ He had to be the second oddest customer I ever had—second only to that Johnny guy, of course.”

With great effort, Ravus lets it slide. “Sorry you had to deal with that.” Privately, he’s almost positive about the customer’s identity. Lunafreya cracks a clever smile that makes him wonder if she _knows_ , except that would be ridiculous—if she’d put it together and recognized the language of Ravus’ problem customer, surely she’d say something, and they’d laugh about it together, condemning Loqi to their ‘crazy customers’ list. 

Instead, Lunafreya kisses his cheek and tells him, “Anyway, I have to run. Have a good day today—close up at six exactly, no earlier.”

Ravus never shirks his duties. He’ll be there until six, even if he gets no one in after two o’clock and has to sit in bitter silence for four hours. It’s an unusual reminder, but there’s no time to question her—she’s flittering out the door, and Ravus is left minding the counter. A bouquet from last night is still decorating it, full of rich anemones.

* * *

At five to six, the door chimes. Ravus is misting the stock, but he heads back to the counter automatically at the ring of the bell, only to have a bouquet of amaryllises thrust out towards him. 

“She said they mean ‘beauty,’” Loqi tells him, eyeing Ravus with grim determination and knuckles nearly white around the stems. “It was the closest I could get to ‘you’re hot.’”

Ravus... just sort of stares at them. Loqi shakes the bouquet in his face, which forces Ravus to move—he takes them. They smell lovely and are the same blood-red shade as his current stock, but they’re already a little wilted—Loqi must have bought them last night. Still in a state of shock, Ravus can’t help pointing out, “I already told you I like anemones.”

“She said they’re sad. Who the fuck picks sad flowers?”

 _Ravus_ does. He can imagine who ‘she’ is and can’t help but wonder if Lunafreya figured out exactly what was going on. Ravus is starting to figure it out. If Loqi only came in to see _Ravus_ the last few times, that would explain why he was never satisfied and kept finding excuses for Ravus to spend more time on him. Even if it was hardly productive time. They don’t know anything about each other. Except for attitude problems and handsomeness. He can at least admit that being called ‘hot’ makes him warm, as lame as it is.

Loqi pierces his reverie, asking, “Well?”

Ravus repeats, “Well?”

“You’re off any minute, aren’t you? She said six. So do you wanna go get a coffee or not?” 

Abruptly, Ravus experiences the very unusual sensation of being annoyed with his angel of a sister. He should’ve figured that she’d try to set him up with a complete asshole. Loqi’s definitely a monster.

Ravus is sort of into it.

He waits a long minute, alternating his gaze between the flowers in his hand and the man in front of him, before he finally mutters, “Fine. One coffee.”

Loqi grins like he’s won the lottery. It’s both a boost for Ravus’ ego and a catalyst to make him question what he’s doing with his life. Loqi leans against the counter and announces, “I’ll wait.”

Ravus drops his flowers in a spare vase and starts to close up, maybe regretting everything.


End file.
